SHELTER
by fracturates
Summary: MARAUDERS AU: Following the scenario of James Potter having his memories altered by Death Eaters, the effect it has on those around him and the repercussions in the time of the First Wizarding War.
1. PT I: INTERVAL

A/N: This story is inspired by the linked gifset. It is mostly written for the benefit of a few but it was far too long to post on anything other than this little nook, plus I kind of want to break it up. I am mostly awful with this site, but whatever! Reviews are welcome & encouraged :D

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PT I: **INTERVAL**

He sees it. Familiarity. Moving it in his hands, he knows how it feels. The weight is tangible in the palm of his hand; the edges find the groves in his palm. Calluses on the tips of his fingers brush against it, the touch is so smooth, cool. _Familiarity_. Home. It seems so removed from one another, a concept that tastes foreign in his mouth but seems to scream from what he had cupped between his fingers. A picture lies on the ground, smiling faces in happier times laughing at him as the white noise grows louder behind his eyes and it feels like a fly is buzzing on his eardrums.

His biceps tense, trying to squeeze the object into another shape. Give it another meaning. But it's stiff, hard, brittle. A bind, a reminder. A reminder of something he can't remember, but sounded like words someone had yelled at him previously, trying to drag something from the recesses of his skull. The faces are still smiling, still laughing, the bile rises up his throat and there is the scrape of a door opening. He snaps, rising to his feet, pulling his wand out in the half light streaming through the dulled windows, and coming face to face with a face that made it all buzz louder.

"_What are you doing here?_"

The question is met with a hand moving to a pocket, fingers – one with an ornament to match what he had been analysing so closely seconds before – moving over the end of her own weapon and eyes never leaving him. There is an expression he can't read. The back of his neck feels tense, beads of sweat roll down the sides of his face, mouth suddenly dry. He knows why he came, he knows why he's here. But there is a ring clutched in his other hand that make him terse, there is something in his mind trying to get out, clawing its way forwards but too weak to make it.

There is a moment of silence before he finally gets it out.

"I'm here to kill you."


	2. PT II: BEGINNING

A/N This is actually where the story really starts, I was just teasing you before ;D Any critique on character representation or ideas is wide open!

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PT II: **BEGINNING**

James Potter had six more hours of _being_ James Potter.

If someone had told him what awaited him as he left the front door, steeling himself for a brisk walk in the cool November breeze, maybe he would have been more careful. Maybe he would have walked warily, not easily, and kept an eye on the area. Maybe he would have not stopped to help the kid that had fallen from his bike and ruffled his hair as he sped off, maybe he would have stayed inside. Maybe he would have found Lily as she was cooking and squeezed her so hard she would hit him as she tried to hide that same blushing smile. Maybe he would have gone out with his wand, prepared to attack, and not secure in the fact that no one knew he was there. Why would anyone know?

Maybe was a big word for five letters. It was potential, it was another universe, it was somewhere else that was a better case scenario but necessarily certain. Maybe was a world where James Potter was careful, where he didn't feel claustrophobic, where he was less confident and walked with more trepidation. Maybe was a place where he didn't catch something moving from the corner of his eye and slow down because there was something _off_ about it. Maybe wasn't where James Potter found himself as six hours turned to five hours, fifty eight minutes, twelve seconds later. A place where he saw the glowing tip of a wand and the hiss of a spell before it hit him.

Six hours started in the afternoon, after another game of chess with Lily and a big sigh as he looked at his wife. Her ring glimmered on her finger; his matched hers in a perfect mirror image. This was their new home, where they were starting a life together, where they might have a family some day. Marriage leant the way to not wanting to hole up with Sirius anymore, though his best friend was more than welcome to come in and out as he desired. They could have gone for a flat somewhere in the capital, but that was too exposed. Godric's Hollow was quaint and quiet, it was nice, and it was hidden out of sight and out of mind. Being a part of the Order just meant you wanted some peace, some quiet, after a while of chasing and hunting Death Eaters.

Or so he thought.

It began to get to him. The quietness, the solitude, being miles away from anyone. Being too wary to apparate, being too unsure to really _do_ anything. He got itchy, needy, bored. He started driving Lily mad, and all he wanted to do was to get out. To go and see people he missed seeing every day, even though he saw them every other day. He just wanted some time away, some time to do whatever he wanted. Six hours previously, he saw the way her green eyes stared at him, because she knew his tells so well. She knew that when he played with the ring, when he shoved his fingers through his hair, when he sighed and rocked back and forth, he was going to say _something_ that was going to annoy her.

"I'm going to go and visit Sirius. Just for a couple of hours, nothing more." The redhead sighed, shook her head, and James tried his best puppy dog look, "C'mon, no one will know I'm there and I'm not _incapable_ of taking care of myself." The purse of her lips told him that it wasn't exactly what bothered her about him leaving, the purse of her lips just made him feel more resolute in going, "You won't even know I'm gone. I'll just annoy you if I'm here."

"Merlin's sake, James. If you want to go, just go!" _But if you leave, I will be angry with you for a week_. That was what she meant, but not what she said, so he left. He walked out as his wand slipped into his back pocket, stepped beyond the front door, and entered the countdown till he was no longer himself. Till he realised in a second he wasn't invulnerable, that he could be taken away from everything he knew. That he would be staring into the soulless eyes of his own destiny, hear the spell that would alter the track his feet were supposed to take. Six hours. A world full of maybes.

It boiled down to seconds, a flash of light, then nothing.

When James Potter woke up, he wasn't James Potter.


	3. PT III: RESTART

A/N These words are just vomitty sorry if it sucks :3

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PT III: **RESTART**

_What happened_.

The words come from somewhere, but he doesn't know if he has spoken them or if he is merely thinking them. Dazed, confused, his head throbbing with the thrum of a curse being fired against it and bruise from the impact it felt against the ground. There was no memory in his mind as to who fired the spell, where it had come from or where he had been the moment it had happened. The questions were foreign to him, almost as though someone was asking him it in a foreign language. But the voice sounded like his own, the confusion was definitely felt, he just couldn't piece anything together. There was a weight against his forehead that felt unusual, thoughts seemed to fall over themselves as they fought for dominance, the little light in the area streamed in and made his sensitive vision feel even tenderer.

It was then he realised his knees, his wrists and his chest were tied down to this bed he was lying on. Struggling against the bonds seemed pointless, though he still tried. His eyes were still blurry, incapable of moving a hand to rub against them in an attempt to clear his vision. James tried to part his lips, tried to yell for someone to come and let him out. None of this was making sense, but nothing seemed to be conjoining together to form a story as it was. He had fragments, but no way of grabbing them. Like floaters in his vision, they were there, within reach, but concentrating on trying break out of that pressure on his forehead and force them to make coherent sense was impossible. He kept on yelling, survival instinct kicking in and telling him that he had to get out. Get the fuck _out_.

There was a sudden light, he couldn't tell if a door was opening or if somebody was trying to blind him and confuse him even more. Then darkness again, capturing him like an old friend and smothering him into a world where it didn't matter if anything pieced itself together – there was nothing, it was peaceful. His body relaxed, tense muscles thawing out and pooling against the hard mattress he was strapped onto. If unconsciousness would accept him, if this state would make sense, then he would stay there. Maybe he could fight back whatever wall was stopping him from remembering. He had memories, he knew he did. But how? It was so convoluted, so loud, so uncertain. So empty.

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_Did it work?_

_We're not sure, we had to sleep him again, he was... acting difficult._

_For Merlin's sake, you imbecile, just rouse him. We need to know if it was successful or not. _

_B...but... Very well. A-As you wish._

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Blinking himself back to reality, whatever that was, James remained motionless. He could see a figure, sitting close to him, but his vision was so hazy he couldn't place a name to them. Then again, there was nothing new about that right now. His lips were dry, throat parched, but he didn't dare talk. There was a voice, telling him to be quiet, to be still. He followed the instinct – though it felt more like _orders_ – and stared at this shadowy person to his side. They moved, and he felt fingers at the buckles against his body. One was unfastened, and then another, and he was released from the confines. But he remained motionless, not daring to defy that reasonable request to remain _still_.

"Do you need your glasses?" the voice was a woman's, cold but attempting to sound warm. James swallowed, nodded his head, and heard the scrape of metal against a surface. The cool frame was pressed against the bridge of his nose, the lenses covering his eyes and suddenly it all came to focus. He still looked at the woman. She was somewhere between her late twenties and early thirties. Dark hair, sallow skin, pinched expression and dark eyes. Familiar, but that was impossible, he had never seen her before. She pushed her gloved hands over the skirt of her outfit, before looking back at him coolly, "I'm sure you're confused. Waking up here."

"Some water?" he asked, licking his lips again. She moved her hand, picking her wand up, and floating it over the glass that appeared in her other hand. Magic, of course. She had a wand, and so did he. Not here though, it wasn't here for some reason. Glugging down the liquid in a few gulps, he handed it back to her and looked around once more, "Yes. I am wondering why I am here. I don't think... I don't know... I have never been here before, have I?"

"Of course not. You were never... ready." The words were so carefully chosen, James immediately wanted to question her, but that voice told him not to. He had to listen. He was supposed to listen. "No. You were attacked by a blood traitor. We found you and brought you back here."

"Blood traitor?" James asked, feeling a strange wave of disgust wash through him at the word. Something must have shown in his face, because the woman looked him over and it appeared as though she bit back a sly smile, "Who?"

"Sirius Black," she answered immediately, but softly. And with that name, out of nowhere, the memory came back.

He remembered. He remembered everything.


End file.
